Bitter Tears and Silent Promises
by JRavenTheFangirl
Summary: What if Horace and Evanlyn were captured by the Skandians, and Will fought Morgarath?


**A/N: this was a prompt given by an anonymous asker on Tumblr. They get credit for this idea, whoever they are... And speaking of credit, the bolded print is NOT MINE. It's written by John Flanagan, in the last chapters of The Burning Bridge. The unbolded text IS mine. Hope you enjoy! Comment, suggest, blah blah blah :) J**

Bitter Tears and Silent Promises

"Morgarath," Duncan called, "although we believe you have forfeited any rights you may have had as a knight, go ahead and make your challenge. As you say, let fate decide the issue."

Now Morgarath allowed the smile to creep over his entire face, no longer trying to conceal it from those who watched him. He felt a quick surge of triumph in his chest, then a cold wash of hatred swept over him as he looked directly at the small, insignificant-looking figure behind the King.

"Then, as is my right before God," he said carefully, making sure he used the exact, ancient words of a challenge, "and before all here present, I do so make my challenge to prove my cause right and just to…" He couldn't help hesitating and savoring the moment for a second. "Halt the Ranger."

…

"Halt is forbidden to accept!" Duncan said angrily.

Morgarath laughed thinly. "Still slinking and hiding then, Halt?" he sneered. "Like all Rangers."

…

"Then, let's get to it, Morgarath!" he(Halt) said. "I acc—"

"Halt! I command you to stop!" Duncan shouted, drowning him out.

But then all eyes were drawn to a sudden movement from the back of the army. A mounted figure burst clear, covering the short distance to Morgarath in a heartbeat. The Lord of Rain and Night reached for his sword, then realized the newcomer had no weapon unsheathed.

"Morgarath!" he yelled, his young voice as strong and firm as he could make it sound. "I challenge you to single combat!"

Then, wheeling his horse a few paces away, Will waited for Morgarath's reply.

Halt's blood ran ice cold when he saw his apprentice in front of him. It was like the world had stopped turning; had taken a few moments out of its normal schedule to stop and stab him with the realization of what Will had done.

Before the startled members of the King's council could react, Morgarath replied swiftly.

"I accept the challenge!"

Halt yelled the moment after, "No! _I_ accept!" Morgarath just turned, and gave him a pitiful, mocking grin. The Ranger unsheathed his saxe knife and started towards him, but Duncan placed a hand on his chest and stopped him from going any farther.

The King spoke with a forced laugh, "Really, Morgarath, is this your knightly challenge? You want to fight an apprentice? A mere boy? I've always known you as a treacherous swine, but at least I never doubted your courage. Now I see you've turned coward as well as traitor."

Morgarath smiled sardonically at the King before he answered.

"Is that the best you can do, Duncan?" he asked. "Do you really think I'll fall for such a transparent ploy? Do you believe I _care_ what you or your toadies think of me? I'll fight the boy, and I'll do it gladly. As you know, one a challenge is given and accepted, there can be no withdrawal."

He was right, of course. The strict rules of chivalry and knighthood, by which they had all sworn solemn oaths to be bund, did decree just that. Morgarath smiled now at the boy beside him. He would make short work of him.

Halt felt a firm hand on his arm and he turned to look into Sir David's grim eyes. The Battlemaster had his sword drawn and resting over his right shoulder.

"The boy will have to take his chances, Halt," he said.

"What chances? He has no chances!" Halt replied.

Will turned his head to Halt with a sour expression. "Ow," he said, obviously joking. But when Halt didn't take it as lightly, Will softened his face. "It's okay, Halt."

"How in the world is this okay?" It sounded like Halt was trying to be angry, but he couldn't because he was choking back something else. Will gave him a smile that was less than assuring.

The byplay hadn't been lost on Morgarath. He was confident that the moment the boy fell, Halt would accept his original challenge again, King's orders or no King's orders. And then, at least, Morgarath would know the satisfaction of killing his old, hatred enemy before his own world came crashing down around him.

He turned now to Will.

"What weapons, boy?" he said in an insulting tone. "How do you choose to fight?"

Will swallowed the hot gulp of fear in his throat, and spoke solidly. "I assume using my bow is against the rules of single combat…"

"Indeed," Morgarath said. "This is a fight, not a shooting match."

Will ignored the blatant insult towards the Ranger's style of fighting, and responded. "Then we will fight as we are." Morgarath carried a sword, and Will carried his saxe knife and throwing knives. He thought of the two knife defense that he, Horace and Gilan had reviewed earlier…

"The whelp chooses to fight as we are. You'll stand by the rules of conduct, I assume, Duncan?" he said.

"You'll fight unmolested," Duncan agreed in a bitter tone. Those were the rules of single combat.

Morgarath nodded and made a mocking bow in the King's direction.

"Just be sure that murderous Ranger Halt understands that," he said, continuing his plan of driving Halt to a cold fury. "I know he has little knowledge of the rules of knighthood and chivalry."

"Morgarath," said Duncan coldly, "don't try to pretend like what you're doing has any connection with real chivalry. I ask you one more time, spare the boy's life."

Morgarath feigned a surprised expression. "Spare him, Your Majesty? He's a twig of a boy, skinny for his age. Perhaps his falling will be for the best; that's one less useless mouth to feed."

It was all Halt could do to keep from killing him on the spot. He clenched his jaw, his fist around his knife, and stood stiller than he had in his life.

"If you must persist with murder, that's your choice, Morgarath. But save us your jeers," said Duncan. Again Morgarath made that mocking bow. Then he said casually, over his shoulder, to Will:

"Are you ready, boy?"

Inside, Will knew he would never be ready. He knew all the odds were against him, and that this was at the very least his stupidest idea yet. But he swallowed that terror, and spoke with such confidence that he hoped his words would convince Halt as well as Morgarath.

"Yes," he said.

It was Gilan who saw what was coming and managed to shout a warning, just in time. The huge broadsword had snaked out of its scabbard with incredible speed and Morgarath swung it backhanded at the boy beside him. Warned by the shout, Will rolled to one side, the blade hissing inches above his head.

In the same movement, Morgarath had set spurs to his dead-white horse and was galloping away, reaching for his shield and settling it on his left arm. His mocking laughter carried back to Will as the boy recovered.

"Then let's get started!" He laughed, and Will felt his throat go dry as he realized he was now fighting for his life.

...

Erak nodded quickly. "He's right," he said, straightening up from beside his friend. "There's nothing we can do for him." The others nodded and Erak grabbed first Horace and then Evanlyn and shoved them along in front of him.

"Come on, you two," he said roughly. "Unless you want to stay here till Morgarath gets back."

And, moving together in a tight little group, the five of them shoved their way through the milling crowd of Wargals, all trying to move in the opposite direction.

While making a path through the bustling creatures, Horace turned an eye to the strawberry blonde beside him, to see how she was. She looked scared, and worried, just like him. It comforted him a little to know that he wasn't alone with his feelings.

Still, he had to ask. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to keep his voice low.

"Peachy," she replied.

He almost smiled at her sarcasm.

"This isn't really the time to be talking," she said.

Horace's heart sunk a little, but he reacted as he should've. "Sorry. I just wanted to try and comfort you; tell you it's going to be okay…"

Evanlyn turned his head around to him, and he stared back with slightly flushed cheeks. Then she smiled. "You're right," she said. And he smiled back.

...

Will had been unhorsed, and now Morgarath had a big advantage over him. Or, so it seemed. Will had trained with the two-knife defense while standing, and he was used to fighting like that… but when training with Gilan, his opponent was standing too.

Morgarath was almost above him, ready to strike down with his sword as he lay on the ground, unable to defend himself. He had an idea, yes, but no armor. He could be killed. Then, dully, he laughed at himself. He was going to be killed anyway.

Will tensed himself, ready. The horse was almost upon him now, swerving away to his right to leave Morgarath striking room. In the last few meter, Will hurled himself to the right after it, deliberately throwing himself under the horse's front hooves.

Unprepared for his suicidal action, the horse tried desperately to avoid him.

While being hit multiple times and wishing to no avail that he had armor, he took his opponent's horse off balance. As the horse went down, Morgarath somehow kicked his feet out of the stirrups and fell clear. He crashed heavily to the ground, the broadsword falling from his grasp.

Morgarath was disarmed, and Will knew this was a huge opportunity. He tried to regain himself and untangle himself from the fallen horse, to get to his enemy and strike him before he could get his sword back. He was fast, but not fast enough. On unstable legs, he got there in time to deflect Morgarath's thrust to his head, with his saxe knife. Morgarath followed that with another swing, which Will barely avoided, and backed away as he did.

His only saving grace was this: his fast as lightning reaction time.

Morgarath thrust again, and Will deflected, but misstepped. After getting beaten so badly by the horse, his strength was failing him, and instead of getting farther away from Morgarath, he slid into him. But then he made the choice to turn this mistake into a success.

He could've thrust his blade into his jaw, but he was unprepared for that, so he just did the best he could with what his instincts gave him. He threw a hard elbow into Morgarath's rib cage, and then struck that same spot with the blunt end of his knife.

There was a crack, and Morgarath stumbled back and gasped.

Will went after him, planning to finish the fight, but Morgarath still had enough stability to swing at him and make him back off. He recovered, but didn't move. They were at a stand-still.

"How does your back feel?" Morgarath asked, with a snaky grin.

The apprentice retaliated, "How does your rib feel?"

"If we're talking about our feelings, now, then I must bring up the subject of your friend, the knight brat, and how he must feel as a prisoner. He's so pathetic; they came this close to throwing him back… but then we decided torture would be a better idea."

Will felt his heart slow to a stop. The knight brat… Horace. This must've been the same way Halt felt when Will rode up to the challenge.

"Oh," Morgarath continued, "and he was with someone. A girl. They knew each other, so I wonder if you know her too." He laughed without humor.

"Release them," said Will, the words coming deep within his throat. "Let them go, or else-"

"Or else what? You'll kill me? That's what you're trying to do now, isn't it? Your chances of killing me are nonexistent whether I release them or not."

Will could feel his blood pumping in his ears. The only thing he could think of was Horace and Evanlyn as prisoners of Morgarath's army… and how much he had to save them. He knew he had to focus. He had to turn all that agony into anger, and then direct it at the King of Rain and Night, so he could kill him. But, then again, he couldn't fight blind with anger. He needed Morgarath to attack him first.

He said the thing his opponent least expected him to say: "Are you going to stand there, stalling, or are we going to finish this?"

Morgarath was surprised- then he smiled. "Well, if you're that eager to die…" He charged forward.

All of the pain and feeling drained from Will's body. What he experienced was similar to what mothers experience when their babies are in danger. Newfound strength, power and confidence circulated in Will's bloodstream, and everything moved slower for him. He could see every attack coming, and blocked every one with ease. Morgarath was taken slightly off guard by this new development.

With one cut, Will punched him in the same spot that he'd used before, with the butt of his knife and Morgarath gasped. He lifted his sword to separate Will's head from his neck, but Will ducked in one piece and used the new angle he had to his greatest advantage.

He recalled Gilan's words:

 _"A quick thrust to the jaw, and it's good night swordsman, isn't it?"_

It was. And he dug the blade of his saxe knife into Morgarath's heart.

Slowly, the Lord of Rain and Night sagged and crumpled to the ground.

Stunned silence gripped the onlookers for a good ten seconds. Then the cheering started.

...

Will did not want to celebrate. After defeating Morgarath, there was only one thing on his mind: Horace and Evanlyn.

Will pushed his way through the Wargals, calling out the names of his friends. Soon he found his mentor joining him at his side on Abelard, his eyes fixed on him with astonishment and more emotion than he had seen on him since they met. "Will," Halt said, in a surprisingly quiet voice. "Are you okay?"

His reply was rushed: "Yeah, I'm fine. We need to find Horace and Evanlyn."

Halt nodded, understanding. He lifted Will onto the saddle behind him and helped in the search.

They pushed impatiently through another group of silent Wargals, then stopped as they heard a weak cry from one side.

A Skandian, barely alive, was sitting leaning against the bole of a tree. He had slumped down, his legs stretched straight in front of him in the dust, his head lolling weakly to one side. A huge stain of blood marked the side of his sheepskin vest.

He made a feeble scrabbling gesture toward it and his eyes beseeched Halt to help him. Nordal, growing weaker by the moment, had allowed his grasp on the sword to release. Now, weak and almost blinded, he couldn't find it and knew he was close to death. Halt knelt beside him, and Will took a few moments to stay. He could see there was no potential danger in the man; he was too far gone for any treachery. He took the sword and placed it in the man's lap, putting his hands on the leather-bound hilt.

"Thanks… friend…" Nordal gasped weakly.

Halt nodded sadly. He admired the Skandians as warriors and it bothered him to see one laid as low as this— so weak he couldn't maintain his grip on his sword. The Ranger knew what that meant to the sea raiders. He rose slowly and began to turn away, then stopped.

Maybe this man knew something. He dropped to one knee again and put a hand on the man's face, turning it towards his own.

"The boy," he said urgently, knowing he had only a few minutes. "Where is he?"

Nordal frowned. The words struck a chord in his memory, but everything that had ever happened to him seemed such a long time ago and somehow unimportant.

"Boy," he repeated thickly, and Halt couldn't help himself. He knew how much this meant to his apprentice. He shook the dying man.

"A boy and a girl! Horace and Evanlyn!" Will exclaimed suddenly, from behind his mentor. "A knight and a girl. Where are they?"

A small light of understanding and memory burned in Nordal's eyes now as he recalled the couple.

Halt waited as patiently as he could for the answer. He knew this man was dying and trying to help as quickly as he could… but each second costed them greatly. He could feel Will growing impatient behind him. "…Gone," Nordal managed finally.

Halt shook him again, to pull him out of the sleep he was going into. He just needed him for a minute longer, he promised, and then he'd leave him in peace. "Gone where?" he urged.

"The fens," he said. "Through the fens to the ships." Then the Skandian smiled. Halt knew those were his last words… and that was all the information he needed.

He stood up from the body of Nordal. "Thank you, friend," he said simply. Then he turned to Will, and they rode off on Abelard.

...

Will knew they were coming closer and closer to the end of the fenlands. And that meant the beach where the Skandians ships lay at anchor. He had to find Horace and Evanlyn before the Skandians reached the beach. Once they were on one of their wolfships, they would be gone forever, taken back across the Stormwhite Sea to the cold, snowbound land of the Skandians, where he would be sold as a slave, to lead a life of drudgery and unending labor.

Now, above the rotting smell of the marshes, he caught the fresh scent of salt air. The sea!

"We're close," Halt whispered to him. He knew. But he appreciated the comfort his mentor was trying to give him.

The grass was thinning in front of them now and the ground beneath his feet became firmer with every step. They had dismounted Abelard a while ago, and at the same time they began to run, leaving the horsing trotting behind them, and they burst clear onto the windswept length of the beach.

A small ridge in the dunes in front of him blocked the sea from his sight and Halt let Will swing onto Abelard's back alone so that the ride would be shorter and faster for him.

Over the ridge was a wolfship anchored offshore. At the water's edge, a group of people were boarding a small boat and, even at this distance, Will recognized the two shorter figures as his friends.

"Horace!" he yelled, but the sea wind snatched that word away and the next word, calling out the name of Evanlyn. He urged Abelard onward.

...

It was the drumming of hooves that alerted them. Erak, waist-deep in water as he and Horak shoved the boat into deeper water, looked over his shoulder and saw the green-and-grey-clad figure on the shaggy horse.

"Hegal's beard!" he shouted. "Get moving!"

Horace, seated beside Evanlyn in the center of the boat, turned as Erak spoke and saw the young Ranger, barely two hundred meters away. He stood precariously trying to keep his balance in the heavy boat.

"Will!" he yelled, and instantly Svengal's backhanded blow sent him sprawling into the bottom of the little craft.

The wind, which had stopped them from hearing Will's cry, carried the boy's thin shout to Will's ears. Abelard heard it too and found a few more yards of pace, his muscles gathering underneath him and sending him along in huge bounds.

Will let go of the reins and reached back to grab an arrow, too late to remember that he had no arrows. And no bow.

The boat was gaining as Abelard, breast-deep in the waves, could no longer maintain his speed. The little horse thrust valiantly against the water, but the boat was drawing alongside the wolfship and was now over a hundred meters away. Will urged the horse a few meters closer, then stopped, defeated, as he saw the figures being hauled up from the boat.

The two smallest figures were dragged toward the stern steering position. The Skandian crew lined the sides of the ship, standing on the rail to shout their defiance at the small figure who was almost obscured by the rolling grey waves.

"Get under way," Erak ordered, and took the steering oar. Horace and Evanlyn were momentarily forgotten, and they dashed to the rail at the first chance they got. It was less than two hundred meters and nobody was watching him. Horace could swim that far, he knew, and he began to reach for the railing. Then he hesitated, thinking of Evanlyn. He knew he couldn't abandon her. Even as he had the thought, Horak's big hand closed over the collar of their shirts and the chance was gone.

Tears were running down Will's cheeks now, more bitter tasting than the salt he had on his tongue, but not as bitter as the sinking feeling that there was absolutely nothing he could do. "Horace!" he cried. "Evanlyn!" His voice tired with the sobs involuntarily overtaking him. His chest heaved up and down so roughly that it could've knocked him from his horse.

He choked out his last, loud words: "Horace! Evanlyn! Please stay alive! I'll find you, I promise! I'll always find you!" Horace and Evanlyn raised their arms to him; he hoped they'd heard him. "I'll find you!" he screamed, to the heavens.

...

For a long time after she'd dropped below the horizon, the sodden figure sat there, his horse chest-deep in the rolling waves, staring after the ship. A cloaked man stood on the beach, watching him, just as helpless as _he_ was to help.

Tears rolled down the apprentice's cheeks, joining the sea and washing away to wherever his friends were.

And his lips still moved, in a silent promise only he could hear.


End file.
